they are
centipedes in the dark
and they escape
silent and smooth as snakes
creeping up to the moon
wrapping around trunks
hanging corpses like decor

they are
whispers in the hull of a gone
ship
and they run, echo loud,
reveal, tell, speak
so loud
that they are one quiet mass

they are
what one can only believe to
be false; when they escape
they are feared and when they
leave they are mourned.

they are-